Posts Tagged ‘time’

Every generation has a different view of the future, but people have been hoping for some things since the 20’s and humanity continues to drop the ball. Things like…

5) Space Elevators

Get this, according to Wikipedia, the technology for these things has existed since 1978. They’d even pay for themselves! After you get the elevator operational, just charge gratuitous amounts of money for people to have a couple hours in space. It worked for Richard Branson, and he hasn’t even taken anyone yet.

4) Spinal cord Bluetooth implants

This great idea belongs to Andy Ihnatko and would eliminate the need for printers, displays, keyboards, speakers, hell, basically everything needed for using your magical audio-visual communication and computation device today. Of course there’s the obvious security issues of your brain being open to wireless hacking, but there’s nothing in there that you haven’t already posted to twitter, facebook, and youtube.

3) The death of 3D

I don’t care what anyone says about 3D being “more realistic” or “the next big advancement in cinema/gaming.” They’re wrong. It isn’t. It hurts your eyes and causes visual overload. When I saw Avatar, (one word review: meh), I spent the whole time thinking how much I’d rather see the film in 2D, or at least a better film. Avatar’s problem was that the 3D made the already-pushing-it-in-terms-of-believability aliens lose all realism and turned them back into digital freaks. Also, particles in 3D are the most distracting thing ever; you’re trying to watch two characters converse but your eyes can’t lock down on one of the dozens of vertical planes in which movement occurs. Stupid flower petals/ashes/holy flying anemonae.

2) An Apple tablet

Seriously, Apple, get on that.

1) Laws against the stuff the 60’s people wanted

I know, personal jetpacks and time machines would be cool, but have you stopped to think about how impractical and dangerous those things would be? Time machines, if possible, have the dangers of paradoxes up the bum and jetpacks would need way too many safety features and airspace regulation. Don’t even get me started on artificial intelligence. Some of these things are just too dangerously powerful and powerfully dangerous to be created.

So on the whole, humanity as a whole has a lot of work to do over the next 10 years to keep me happy, which, admittedly, is probably not the best goal for the entire world to pursue.

So I succeeded in staying in bed for 24 hours straight. All in all, it was a fun experience, though I don’t plan to do it again anytime soon unless it’s for charity or something. Some highlights…

I’d say most of my time was spent with video games, and most of my video game time was spent with Fallout 3. So far, pretty nice game, though arguably inferior to Mass Effect in most ways besides combat, graphics, and auto-saving. But it’s a different type of game for a different audience.

It seems every time I rent Spider-Man 2, the DVD is scratched or really dirty or something else that prevents me from watching it all the way through. I still don’t recall if I’ve ever seen the whole thing.

The best way to scare off someone on Omegle asking “m or f?” is to respond “lioness.”

Alright. This film is terrible. I might go as far as to say it sucks hard.

Okay, some perspective. I watched this movie in a noisy hotel room with a bunch of other people. It was part of a little pay-per-view double feature with Jumper, and though I don’t remember which one we saw first, I know that somehow Hayden Christensen, Prince of Bland, outperformed this film’s entire cast.

So, VANTAGE POINT. Why does it suck so hard? I would ask the audience to turn their attention to the following hint.

The Guilty Parties

I don’t really remember anyone else besides these guys and Sigourney Weaver, but she was only in it for ten minutes anyway. If you don’t recognize these three puzzled men, allow me to enlighten you. From left to right, Forrest Whittaker, Dennis Quaid, and Matthew Fox, or, judging by their expressions, a very tan Thom Yorke, John McCain, and a mentally-handicapped badger. You might know them from Battlefield Earth, Jaws 3-D, and the picture above, respectively. In this film, they all play douchebags who can’t act. None of their lines were believable, memorable, or compelling. Maybe if they had been, I would have remembered the plot a little better.

But why would I want to remember that? It’s illogical, poorly written, and executed worse than Jack Sparrow was at the end of Pirates of the Caribbean. Basically, the gimmick is that the movie gives you 20 minute or so peep shows of the obese, 47-year-old, male stripper that, in this sentence, represents the story. Adding to the gimmickiness is the fact that the movie presents these peaks from different characters’ points of view, hence the title. While it sounded like a good idea when I first watched the trailer, the sudden changes of perspective ended up being the biggest ripoff moments in the film. You see, every time Vantage Point decides you’ve seen enough semi-congruous story for now, it quickly rewinds back to the beginning, and these were the points when everyone in the room screamed and moaned and started throwing objects at the TV. The pacing is just terrible. Just when you think some interesting development is about to unfold, ZIP!, right back to the start. The film is in serious need of some Ritalin. And if … writer “Barry Levy” thinks that these jerks are just good ol’ fun-loving cliffhangers, he can have his name taken off the IMDb page where I found it. They don’t build up to a big reveal at the end, nor do they provide enough satisfaction through hints or clues to make up for the massive disappointment that follows. The last “big reveal,” especially so. It was so momentous and surprising that I stay awake at night thinking about how awesome it was and how I’ll never post spoilers on the internet saying that the terrorists did it and I think Matthew Fox helped somehow. That being said, it’s basically a big load of bull crap being shoved through your eyes and ears.

Don't you believe me? Don't you?

One thing I must comment on, though, is the big final chase sequence, or at least one version, which by the sixth time lost most of its energy. Dennis Quaid’s character evidences the sheer amount of effort that went into writing the lines for his car chase. For about the last nine minutes, this is the entirety of the dialog…

[Bunch of explosions with cars and stuff]

Dennis Quaid: “Shit!”

[Bullets whizzing by, Arabs staring menacinly]

Dennis Quaid: “Shit!”

Matthew Fox: “Shit!”

[Shots of people important enough to warrant a vantage point, but not important enough for me to remember their names]

Journal found in the Willamette Valley in Oregon on July 2nd, 2009. According to name at front, belonged to “AHNOLD.”

April 23rd, 1848

Dear Diary,

Missouri has started to lose its charm. My family is beginning to have relational issues. My wife, TITTZZZ, in particular has become quite distant as of late, and our love life is severely lacking. The awkwardness of adolescence has increased the fights between PAMELA and TURD threefold. My brother, JAMESBOND, has been living with us since the Indians burned down his cabin and ate his wife last November, but he only seems to exacerbate the problems we are facing. I believe a road trip will do this family some good.

May 1st, 1848

Dear Diary,

This is it. We’re setting out on our family road trip to Oregon today. I can feel this will be the start of a new chapter in our lives, one where we can all work together for our common good.

Things got off to a great start when I successfully convinced JAMESBOND to leave his pornographic novels at home. He told me, “I think of this as turning over a new leaf, I don’t need those things now that I’ve moved in with you guys.” On the trail, however, he has for the most part stayed inside the covered wagon with TITTZZZ and PAMELA, leaving me and TURD to man the oxen.

May 15th, 1848

Dear Diary,

After crossing the Kansas river last week, things have not been going so well. TURD broke his arm fixing a wagon wheel this morning so I had to drag my brother out of the back to help me navigate. He is not particularly useful in that regard, spending most of the time telling me about the sensual shapes he sees in the clouds. On a positive note, our food supplies seem to be holding out nicely. Hunting is usually quite bountiful, but though with the might of my rifle, I may take down many a foe, I can never bring back more than 100 lbs. of meat as the idea of physical labor seems to be foreign to my family. Maybe I should go back to spanking.

June 9th, 1848

That yellow BASTARD! In the shadow of night, a cowardly thief pinched every damn one of my oxen! We now have no viable means of transportation. While I toil my time away attempting to trade with passers by, TURD and PAMELA bicker incessantly while my wife and brother go off to play isolated games of backgammon. Confound it all.

July 20th, 1848

Dear Diary,

After an entire month of fruitless bartering attempts, I was finally able to secure a single ox. Though we are at least moving, our speed has been slashed to a fraction of what it was when we set out from St. Louis. In the meantime, PAMELA has managed to get herself a snakebite… on her inner thigh. She becomes uneasy when I inquire about the circumstances or attempt to examine it. I have also had to decrease the rations by 20%. I frequently feel peckish during the night but convince myself to abstain from midnight snacks for the good of the group.

August 29th, 1848

Dear Diary,

Sickness abounds. TURD, despite being given slack for his broken arm, is suffering from exhaustion and JAMESBOND has caught the typhoid. I myself have been feeling light symptoms of dysentery, which our dwindling supply of fresh water does nothing to abate. Our food supply is nearly exhausted, partially due to our monthlong standstill and partially due to my brother being a big, fat ass. Without any men to help with hunting, my ability to bring back game is dwindling. As it stands, we only have 27 lbs. of food. My arm is looking quite delicious right now.

September 4th, 1848

Dear Diary,

My daughter has caught a nasty fever, but I’m attempting to keep illnesses quarantined in our small covered wagon. We found some wild fruit today, but our pantry still runs empty. Other emigrants we have encountered have told that a fort with a general store is not too far away. Of course in this pathetic excuse for a pioneering life, “not too far” equates to several weeks. Dagnabit.

October 10th, 1848

Our first funeral was today. JAMESBOND died of the fever he caught from PAMELA, despite my best attempts to isolate her disease. While I am deeply saddened, a part of me is relieved to be done carting around that lazy, worthless, mooching, sonofabitch. I dare not say this in front of my wife, as her grief appears much greater than mine. That is why I have you, Diary. To tell my secret thoughts. Nevertheless, it is a shame he did not last until we arrived at the fort where he could have received a proper burial instead of a shallow grave covered in cat food.

October 14th, 1848

WHY? First my brother, now my wife? TITTZZZ caught the fever earlier today and the potent demon killed her in a span of four hours. My children mourn their mother’s passing with me. We’re also running low on weed.

November 22nd, 1848

They’re all dead. Every one of them. I knew when TURD caught cholera last week that it was only a matter of time. Watching him die as I held him in my shaking arms three days ago, I cursed the heavens. My brother, my wife, and my son had been taken away from me. Today, though, the fever PAMELA had caught from JAMESBOND rose to an unprecedented level. Even my pedestrian medical experience could tell she was a goner. As she lay in a dizzy haze, she related to me a startling confession. She told me that JAMESBOND had been having sexual congress with both her and TITTZZZ simultaneously while I was driving the wagon, until he died. That was why the fever which killed him passed on to my wife and PAMELA without first affecting me or TURD. That lowdown, dirty, rotten, scoundrel! I no longer regret urinating on his grave, except for the fact that I could have saved my urine for drinking.

December 12th. 1848

dear diary,

i dont know how i manage to go on. all alone with no food and dirty water and a fever. i miss my wife so but i cannot help but feel animosity toward her and PAMELA, those lecherous whores. i still might be able to make it to the colorado river… but my head… i i ……_______________________

December 15th, 1848

To whoever finds this Diary,

SUCK IT BITCHES!!! I made it to Oregon, and it’s just as nice as everyone said it was! The streets are paved with cocaine and the primary form of currency is sexual favors! I’ve met a nice blonde with supple lips and a thing for Lucha wrestling, so I couldn’t be happier. I plan to start a career as a hardcore rapper and fulfill my dream of diving into a swimming pool filled with a mixture of money and beer. It’s Oregon, So Anything’s Possible!™ Man, I friggin’ LOVE the Beaver State!

I know it sound a little weird, but at least 4 times today, I have made casual predictions that manifested themselves shortly after said prediction. One of those times, I seemed to read a guy’s mind. I might go before the Jedi Council, or maybe I’ll just take an online test or something.

I have also made a breakthrough in the study of Déjà vu. My hypothesis is that the people who experience it simply lead boring, monotonous lives. Could I get someone to confirm this correlation?

I was just sitting around the other day, thinking about time. Don’t know why. I was kind of rolling with the ‘time-is-a-river’ metaphor and this is what I came up with. . .

Suppose time is a river and we are are wounded bull sharks (work with me). We are being pulled through the time river upstream by a net. This net represents the present, and in front of the net is the future, behind, the past. When we die, we fall through the net and leave the present. In this model, travel to the past is impossible because, due to our wounds, we are unable to propel ourselves with the necessary speed to get water flowing through our gills and, therefore, suffocate without motion. However, if we are able to pull ourselves to the front of the net or we find a method of locomotion, we can move forward to the future. In the real world, the modus operandi is found in approaching the speed of light, which, admittedly, is quite a difficult feat for an injured bull shark.